Please, mend me
by Dowash
Summary: The cross falls to hang from between my palms and I lean my head lightly on my hands. I pray- for the first and last time in my life. ‘I know I’ll go to Hell for this,’ I whisper.


**A.N**: My, of course I own! Thank you for that lovely comment and- What? What do you mean you were joking? Damn you! *throws a rotten tomato*

Alright, I don't own *snorts* If I did, I'd be rolling in money and you most probably wouldn't be reading this. *laughs* Though who knows... My muse has proved himself quite capable to be a hell of a jacket-turner sometimes... =P

And now, the **warnings **once again: *clears throat* hmm, now how should I put this... Okay, mild language and compromising situations. That should do the trick *grins*

Dududududu... Now get to it, I won't hold you back any longer *bows*

* * *

He doesn't see me, no matter how much I stare. Too busy entertaining the guests and laughing at stupid jokes, I suppose. No wonder he's not interested in me. I'm not standing at the center of the crowd, laughing my faked laugh and smiling only because otherwise I'd be getting funny looks. I don't pretend to be happy and that's why he avoids my company.

An attack of vicious pain strikes my chest and my hold on the glass in my hand tightens. My eyes fall down to it and I stare at the transparent liquid. It surprises me to see it half-empty. I don't remember drinking any of it.

Explosions of laughter all around me hurt my ears, and I stare into the ignited fireplace. I can still see him from the corner of my eye and when he throws his head back in amusement, his laughter reaching my secluded corner, I nearly spring up from the chair. The glass clacks as I place it on the table but the noise gets drowned by the hassle. No-one notices as I slip away and escape from the room, not one single pair of eyes focuses on me as I walk through the corridors. My self-pity says it's because I'm too miserable to be noticed; that they don't want to see me because it would ruin their mood, but in truth it's only because I've gotten too good at hiding myself.

I make my way through the dark house and then, finally, cool night air greets me as I flee into the backyard.

The garden's pretty. Maybe. If I understood what beautiful meant anymore, sappy compliments such as that would have undoubtedly fallen from my lips. Empty words which meant nothing; I hated it. I hate it when people talk just to say something or to sound wise and cool; it would be better if they just kept quiet if they had nothing to say.

That's another difference between me and him. He seems to be talking just for the fun of it, uttering out words and sentences which make no sense whatsoever and can't fill the emptiness within me. Or maybe it's just me, and I can't understand his words the way he means them.

It's quiet out here, and I relish it as I fall to sit on the railing, my back against the wall. Without even consciously noticing it, I light a cigarette and take a deep, deep drag, watching the smoke as it climbs up to the black, velvety sky. It looks troublesome.

A breeze courses across the yard and makes the trees bend, the leaves humming low as they flutter. Then it's over and the silence which I so yearn continues; it comes back to me. The party inside seems to be in a completely different world, a different galaxy, and I'm content with the distance between us as I take a new drag and watch the silver-gray smoke disappear into the dark night.

My leg falls over the railing to the other side as I draw the other up, leaning my forearm to my knee as I stare at the scarlet tip of the cigarette. A shiver courses down my spine because the air is chilly but I don't even think about going inside to get my jacket. I love the cold; the way it makes my skin prickle and how- if I stay long enough- it will take every sense of feel away from me. So that in the end, I'll be numb.

Suddenly the door bursts open, making me start, and lets out the laugh and noise and chattering, a figure stumbling through before a bang echoes through the backyard and the silence returns once more. My heart twists when I see the smile on his face and I turn my head away, the cigarette rising to my lips too hastily.

'Oh, hi,' he says cheerfully, like it's normal to stumble into someone else's world just like that. 'What're you doing here alone?'

It sounds like he's nearly mocking me, shoving me even deeper into my self-pity because I'm here all by myself and he has all of his friends and everyone else behind him…- that's the way my ears want to hear it. I don't want to admit he sounds genuinely worried, and when the terrace creaks under his feet as he comes closer I try to ignore it.

'Anyone home?' he asks with a laugh, knocking the side of my head with his knuckles. I cringe away and suddenly there's the railing between us and a surprised look on his face as his hand slowly lowers.

I heave in a breath, praying him for not to notice it as I turn away again and stare at the grass. I curse at my too fast reflexes which flew me to the ground at a mere touch as my hand rises to my mouth again and I take a drag from the smoke.

A soft thump races to my ears before the grass rustles under his feet. A hand lands on my shoulder and I barely feel the burn of it before I've already turned around and swatted it away, my legs taking me a few steps back.

I look at him, and my heart thuds against my ribs as I realize he's staring right back at me. The smile has disappeared from his face and he looks worried now, a light frown on his face. He glances at his still upheld hand before letting it fall back down to his side, and suddenly the distance between us seems to grow.

'Are you okay?' he asks quietly, his fingers moving on his side, and my eyes fall to them to see that he's fiddling with the neck of the bottle in his hand. I watch his thumb run over the etiquette, then come up again before going even higher to sweep past the mouth. My own mouth dries as I think of things I don't want to, and I rip my eyes away.

'Yeah,' I say, and hate how it sounds more of a gasp than my usual tone. I hate him for making me feel this way.

His clothes rustle as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other. Suddenly the lights go on in the kitchen, bathing the backyard with an orange glow and casting a rectangle of light around his feet. His shadow stretches out toward me and I nearly jump out of the way, further into the darkness. I can't see his face anymore from the halo around his head.

He turns back towards the house, just glancing at the illuminated window, and I can see the frown on his face before he's already looking at me again and his face gets covered with darkness. Then he steps out of the light and my eyes stay riveted on him as he slowly and silently rounds me and walks deeper into the darkness, to where the lights won't reach.

I tell myself not to follow him, but to suddenly have acquired all of his attention so indisputably makes me lose my resolve too soon. So I do follow him, to the small gazebo at the back of the yard which is shielded by old oaks and maples.

'Sit,' he says, tapping the bench next to him.

It's dark; I can't see his face but only his silhouette and I hear the bottle getting lowered to some unidentified spot.

At first I nearly decline, feeling angry at myself for coming even this far. But then… 'Please,' he says, and this time I hear metal clacking against the wood as he pats the bench with his other hand and his ring scrapes the wood.

The ring that I gave him.

My legs move on their own and I climb the few steps, hearing the floorboards creak under my feet before dead leaves scrunch under my shoes. I go to sit at the other side of the hut and still it's not far enough; there's still only two feet between us.

Then it's an awkward silence which stretches on for eternities.

The bench creaks as he moves and I nearly jump, not having even realized how tense my entire body is before I move and my muscles scream at me. And still we don't utter a word and the quietness continues between us, slowly getting colder as the night crawls on and gets chillier. I can barely see the faint cloud of smoke which erupts from my lips and suddenly I realize I don't have my cigarette anymore. It frightens me, for I don't remember where it has ended up, and even though my eyes fly over the dark landscape, I see nothing.

My hand digs into my pocket and I take the parcel which I used to hate into my hand, a movement which is too familiar shaking one of the cigarettes out. I take it between my lips and ignite it as the packet slips back. An orange glow lights my face from a downward angle before I take the smoke and blow the greyness out.

'I didn't know you smoked,' he says quietly, and if the smoothness has a tone at all then it's mildly curious.

'They're yours,' I state before taking another drag, and the bench creaks under him again.

"Then why do you have them?' he asks, and I scarcely see how he leans back and rests his arms on the low wall behind him. He sounds amused if anything and it irks me. I stay quiet and continue to smoke the cigarette.

He sighs, and I see the whiteness erupting from his lips before it quickly evaporates into the darkness.

'Harry-' he starts, then falls silent again. His head falls back against the wall and despite the darkness I can see his hair spreading on it as well. He's cut it, but it's still longer than mine.

'I don't need your lectures,' I say abruptly before he has the time to continue, taking a yet another drag. He chuckles, and my stomach does a small twist I despise.

'I wasn't going to give you one, kiddo,' he says, sounding amused again. ''s not my style.'

I snort and take a last drag. Dead leaves scrunch under my foot as I drop the tip of the cigarette on the floor and extinguish it. 'What do you want?' I ask, and am glad at how aggressive I manage to make my voice sound.

'To talk,' he says simply, and my heart thumps against my ribs again. I lean back and wipe the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, trying to prevent it from shaking.

'Then talk,' I say as nastily as I can, and he sighs. I try to get irritated when I hear it, but the only emotion I'm feeling is despair. I realize I should leave but my legs suddenly feel wobbly, and my back seems to be glued to the bench.

'What's wrong?' he asks, and the worried taint in his voice only makes my heart wring itself into a knot. I have his indisputable attention but suddenly I don't want it anymore; I'd be willing to give almost anything to leave and erase this moment from my memory.

'I'm fine,' I say, and hear how tense I sound even in my own ears. I curse inside my mind, feeling it start to reel as his gaze lands on me. I can feel it even though I can't see it, and it burns too much.

'No you're not,' he says quietly, and I hate him for being so perceptive. I was anything but fine, but everyone else believed me when I told them that of course, I was doing just peachy, what else, I just killed Voldemort and you made me into a fucking saint without my consent because of cold-blooded murder. They all believed that faked smile and forced laughter, thinking I was doing just fine when in truth I wasn't. But he was the last person I was going to tell that.

'I told you, I'm fine," I say, with the appropriate amount of hurt for not being believed and anger for the exact same reason. And all the while I tried to leave but my legs wouldn't work. It felt like I was paralyzed, and that was why I hated him. One word, just a smile or a glance, and I was glued to the spot, nearly begging for more; begging for him to take notice of me.

'Harry-'

'I'm fine, alright?' I say, too loudly, my hands falling on the edge of the bench as I lean forth and still my lower body wouldn't move or react. 'Just go back there and pretend I've never even existed like you've been doing so far!'

The air seems to grow cold from my words and it makes my skin tingle. Then, nearly languidly, the tingle intensifies as the silence between us stretches on, burning my entire body.

When a faint flutter of wind rustles the dead leaves on the floor, I realize it's not the cold air anymore but his magic, filling up the small space until it becomes hard for me to breathe. I inhale with difficulty and feel the tingle escalating into my lungs as I take in the air which is saturated with him; with his essence.

'What?' he asks, sounding angry and confused at the same time, and the pressure gains strength until it's nearly weighing me down.

'Just ignore me like you always do!' I nearly cry out into the blackening darkness, my heart thudding against my ribs in shame and embarrassment because this wasn't how I wanted this to go. I never wanted to play this scene with him.

'When have I ever-' he starts, his voice shaking ever so slightly. I hear him stand up and then the pressure whams over me and forces me down on my knees on the floor. His magic hums in my ears, making my blood rush through my body as it coaxes, orders me to tell the truth. And I loathe him because of it, because he has so much control over me and yet he still doesn't belong to me. He doesn't want to belong to me.

'Stop it,' I gasp, trying to breathe from the pressure as I feel his magic starting to dig into my skin like thousands of needles, but needles were made to cause pain instead of thrilling pleasure. 'Sirius, stop it!'

And there he is, on his knees before me, his fingers grabbing the back of my shirt as he lifts me up like a kitten so that I have to look at him.

'What do you mean?' he asks with a half-growl, and I can see his eyes because we're so close to each other. Pools of gray fire stare down to me, his magic swirling in the infinite depths and making them darken until they're nearly black.

And my memory betrays me, mixing past with present, and suddenly I can feel the hand which is on my neck clutching onto my hip instead, the dark hut getting replaced with an even darker bedroom.

He was above me, eyes half-lidded and hazy with pleasure, a light hissing moan dropping from his lips as he entered me and made my back arch and fingers grasp at the silky sheets as my body jerked involuntarily. He smiled in satisfaction, retreated, thrust back in again harshly. My eyes rolled back and it was bliss as scorching pleasure wrung my stomach into a tight knot, a wanton sigh escaping my lips. Heat surged over me forcefully, my nails grazing his skin, and he growled, deep in his throat. The sound made my prick swell.

I remember the eagle tattooed to his inside of his left forearm; how my eyes kept returning to it through the entire night as he made me his. I remember it being next to my head, moving slightly as he moved, the pleasure driving me insane. I remember looking at it with nearly delirious eyes as that arm had been wrapped around my chest, his warmth against my back and light wanton pants skating past my ear.

I'd watched it move as he brought us completion. First me and then himself. My name fell from his lips in the disguise of a groan so many times.

He moves- jerks back, and I know he's seen what I saw; got hit with my bare emotions. My hand clutches his forearm and dead leaves scrunch under by back as I move. I realize I'm lying on my back on the floor with him kneeling between my legs, hovering over me, when I see the ceiling of the hut above his head. I can't recall how we ended up like that.

The coldness of the ground seeps through my clothes and I try to get up. He shoves me down and makes sure I stay there as we just stare at each other for too long.

'Why-' he starts finally, his fingers tightening their hold around my wrists. I can feel the ring digging into my skin.

'Get off me,' I snarl, my heart beating maddeningly fast as I push him off to stand up. My head spins, and I hope he didn't dig in too deep with him doomed magic. Then there's a hand circling my wrist and it yanks me back.

'Why didn't you say anything?' he asks, and I feel his magic humming over me again.

'Stop that,' I spit.

'_Tell_ me,' he orders, his hold tightening, and then the pressure intensifies again. I nearly drown in it.

'There's nothing to tell,' I grind out, gritting my teeth.

'Harry-'

'Fuck you, Sirius!' I nearly scream and then it cracks, my magic whamming through me and I can't stop it. I can feel the sparks between his hand and my wrist and it hurts, but still he doesn't let go. He just grimaces and tightens his hold. 'Let go,' I snarl.

'No,' he says, and my skin tingles painfully as his fingers dig into it.

'LET GO!' I shout, yanking at my wrist.

'Not until you explain to me what I saw!' he says, his own voice rising, and something crackles around us as his magic starts to slip badly from his control.

'What's there to explain, you were _there_!' I yell. His magic pours into my lungs with every inhale and makes me burn from the inside. 'If you want an explanation then why don't you just invade my fucking head and take it from there?'

I heave in a breath, my chest rising and falling too rapidly. My body tingles and he keeps quiet.

His magic slips and the entire gazebo creaks and still, he keeps quiet. It hums around me, digging into me, making it hard for me to breathe; the biting edge of his anger gives his magic a bitter taste as it weighs me down. Finally, my legs give in under the pressure and I fall down almost willingly. He holds my wrist as I crash down to kneel before him and still he doesn't utter a word.

'I'd never do that,' he says at last, his voice quiet but rich and velvety.

'Fuck you,' I gasp, my fist clenching, and I can feel the tendons in my wrist pressing against his palm.

'Harry-'

'Just forget it, alright?' I shout, trying to yank myself free once again. 'Just forget you fucked me out of pity because you thought I was going to die! Because _I _thought I'd die!' I gasp, feeling my throat knitting itself shut, and my entire body shakes in effort to keep the tears within. 'Just forget it,' I repeat weakly and the anger gets drained away as my strength leaves me, forcing my head to dangle. My wrist slips from his hold and it falls on the ground heavily as I close my eyes, feeling the burn behind them.

Suddenly it gets easier for me to breathe and I realize the tingle is gone.

Fingers thread through my hair before sliding to hold the back of my head. I'm pulled into his warmth and I'm too tired to hate it. 'Fuck you,' I gasp, and tears roll down my cheeks. It ignites my fury. 'Fuck you!' I say louder and hit his shoulder. 'Fuck… you.'

'Harry-'

'You're not sorry,' I snarl with a sob, my hand rising to grasp his shirt. 'Fuck you, Sirius, you're never sorry about anything,' I nearly whisper into his shirt, and it hurts deep inside. 'Why did you have to say yes?' I scream, hitting his chest as hard as I can. 'Why did you have to comply?'

He's silent again. Then; 'I thought you were going to die.'

'You shouldn't have said yes,' I whisper. 'Fuck you!' I shout and hit him again out of sheer desperation, because it hurts too much.

I was never supposed to survive killing Voldemort. That was why I had gone to ask Sirius to take my virginity. It had been the only thing I had wanted to lose willingly and most of all of my own choice. I'd thought I would die while saving this despicable world, and believing that there was even one person worth saving in it- someone who knew me completely and would remember me later on- had given me enough courage to face Voldemort.

Clumsily, the ring had been an attempt to force Sirius to remember me.

I hadn't thought I would be able to kill Voldemort and live. I hadn't thought I'd live to witness the oddness which followed. I loved Sirius and he didn't love me back- it was a single truth which shunned me away from everyone else and poisoned the air I breathed.

The fingers thread through my hair again, and it connects too deeply inside my mind to the touches he gave me during that night- the soothing and comforting sweeps as I bit into the pillow so that I wouldn't scream as he filled me.

'Fuck you, Sirius,' I say, my voice weary and raspy, and my hand does a meek nudge instead of a hit before it stills above his heart. 'Why did you say yes?'

He doesn't answer, and my heart coils around itself in my chest. I feel empty and used, and still I don't lift my head from his chest. Like a child, I wish to stay close to him. His scent is still too intoxicating, and still I want to drown in it- it and his magic, so that I wouldn't have to feel the nothingness anymore.

A dry stick snaps in two somewhere in the darkness and my senses try to perk up before slipping into the numbness again. I fight to feel the dread when I realize I don't care who it is; a friend or a foe, it doesn't matter to me in this state. I try to panic, but even that gets muted out, and then there's already something akin to a comforting sweep over my cheek by long fingers.

'Is everything okay?' a man's voice asks from outside the gazebo, and it takes me frighteningly long to recognize it. Nothing floods into me, not even the whisper of an emotion, as it clicks tiredly in my head.

'Yeah,' Sirius replies, and his voice rumbles in his chest much like his moans did back then.

'We thought we felt your magic a while ago,' Remus says. 'And Nymphadora said she hear raised voices.'

'Everything's fine,' he says, and I want to believe in it so, too.

The pain suddenly returns and forces me to shift, leaves crushing under me and causing loud noises to echo in the night.

'Who's with you?' Remus asks, his voice suddenly sharp, and I can hear his clothes rustling as he quickly takes out his wand. And suddenly I want to get aggressive, because he can't see us properly so he doesn't know who I am. I could attack him and get him to curse me and then this all would be over. The thought seems so tempting that I realize I'm already moving before my body is gently restrained, tugged back against him and his intoxicating warmth. I can feel his magic flooding over me and comforting me ever so slightly, a whisper echoing through my mind lighter than a butterfly.

''s just Harry,' he says, and I sense his hold on me loosening both mentally and physically as I stay still.

'Harry's with you?' Remus says, and I'm not sure if he sounds surprised or not. 'Why?'

'We needed to talk,' he says, and just like I do, Remus hears the final taint in his voice.

'Oh,' the man says, and I can nearly hear all the unasked questions on his lips, dying to get out. And suddenly I wonder if he knows; if he knew back then when I sneaked out of Sirius's room instead of my own in the morning. Did he see it; did he sense or smell it, the mingling of our scents.

That day, I thought everyone knew. Every look anyone directed at me, I thought it to be because they could see it in my face and eyes; I was impure; not innocent anymore. I thought they knew why Sirius wouldn't come out of his room during those last, long hours I spent there in that house.

'Oh,' Remus says again, sounding almost defeated before he turns and leaves just as quietly as he appeared.

The silence stretches on between us again and I listen to the steady and slow beating of his heart.

'Harry-,' Sirius starts finally, then trails off as if he didn't know what he wanted to say anymore. 'Harry, I-'

'It doesn't matter,' I mutter, and wonder if he hears the thickness in my voice like I do. 'Just forget it,' I continue and finally find the strength to push myself up. I sway as if I were drunk before I take a step back and support myself with the wall. He sits on the floor and looks up to me. I can't see his gaze but I can feel it, and it burns my skin.

I turn to stagger away and as my feet touch the grass, the coldness returns to me. My hurried exhale explodes to the skies in a puff of grayness as I escape from the gazebo, my legs barely able to carry my weight. My knees buckle as I nearly dash inside the house, trying to run away from my memories. The music and laughter hits me hard on the face and makes me stagger back against the backdoor. I hear it click and sigh deeply, but the desperation and coldness won't leave me be. I close my eyes against it all and wish I could just drown.

'Harry?'

My legs nearly give out and suddenly I feel like laughing. They just couldn't leave me be… I open my eyes a fraction to see Ron and Hermione standing on the doorway leading to the kitchen, drinks in their hand and a worried look on their faces.

'You okay there?' Ron asks before taking a sip from his glass. I can hear the ice clacking inside it and somehow it reminds me of one of the sounds he coaxed from my lips. I had never thought I would or could be vocal during sex but he had proved me wrong.

The pain attacks my chest again and this time I can feel it twisting my lips down as well, my hand rising to my heart all by itself. ''m fine,' I say, and hate them for believing me when they just nod and smile.

'Are you sure, though?' Hermione asks. 'You don't look too good,' she continues after a while of hesitating and suddenly I feel like laughing again. I can feel it bubbling under my breastbone; hysterical giggling. A chuckle slips through anyway and even though it sounds unhinged to my own ears, those two just smile even more.

'Ima go upstairs,' I say, and watch them nod again. My heart twists as I realize that they would never understand, and suddenly the coldness from outside seems to seep in through the hinges of the door and infiltrate my body, nestling in the pit of my stomach.

I watch them go to the living room. The door opens and happiness pours into the corridor. It evades me as I go to the staircase and start to ascend the steps one by one. It nearly feels as if I was dragging my body behind me, with it getting heavier every second. By the time I reach my room and bed, I want to cry again.

Later... So, so much later... I hear the waves; the sound is rhythmical and calming, and I'm surprised I can hear it to all the way up to where I stand. The brisk sea wind courses across the cliff, twirling my clothes and caressing my hair and face with its soft fingers before slipping away again. There's no moonlight and I can barely see a thing. But even the little I make out of the darkness is enough for me.

I stare down into the waves, listening to them crash against the huge rocks harshly before retreating again. Another twirl of wind pushes me closer to the edge and I comply willingly.

My thumb brushes past the string hanging from my fingers and I feel my throat tightening again. I raise my eyes to the gray, distant sky and feel the tears again. No-one had told me what I was supposed to do when Voldemort was dead. It hadn't taken me that long to realize that they didn't know, either. _No_-one had thought I would survive.

My hands clench into fists and I can feel the cross digging into my palm. I've never been religious, and I hadn't thought Sirius was, either, before I got the necklace as a birthday gift from him. It's the only thing I carry with me at all times, even though I know that giving it to me had meant a lot less to him than it did to me.

At that thought, my legs lose their strength and I crash on the grass. A rock presses against my skin nearly painfully but I'm too tired to dig it away.

Slowly, I bring my hands before me and entwine my fingers. The cross falls to hang from between my palms and I lean my head lightly on my hands. I pray- for the first and last time in my life.

'I know I'll go to Hell for this,' I whisper. 'If there even is such a place. But if You really exist, then I would be glad if you could make him forget. He doesn't have to think he caused any of this.'

I swallow, my mouth dry as I lower my hands and let the necklace slide from my fingers to the grass. I twirl the string before letting it slip from my grasp and disappear to the ground as I stand up. Carefully, as not to stomp on it, I take a step over it. I can feel the wind blowing around me again, running in circles like a giggling child, and a faint smile manages to get to my face.

I just hope it doesn't hurt too much as I take that one step, knowing there's no ground under my foot to push me back. My stomach does a funny twist- almost identical to the one his smile always caused- as my body jerks forth and I fly down. For a second or two I can hear the wind howling in my ears and making my clothes rustle as the sound of the sea rushes towards me. Then, just for a second or two, blinding pain.

Then… silence.


End file.
